this
a mad capped turning of
fires that keep burning,
burning, shifting under

neath a satin sheet
of fire
and this voodoo spell of snakes
and rainbows has always had me
spinning, a mad capped
turning of fires that keep
burning burning
burning burning
burning burning
burning satin sheets

this.
it's trickey, this
me wanting you wanting me
underneath an opal

moon
just above charcoal
june. a day, a way, a
prayer that once prayed
bursts into flames that makes
me Joan of Arc, with my bones
brittle beacons to heaven
and a heart that just won't burn.
A caboret of charcoal
this spinning ball of blue
full of combustable confidence
a carousel of carosine just waiting to
explode.

this.
a single spark in chaos
starts the wheels whirrling
a mad capped turning of
fires that keep being

and it's trickey: this knowing you
not knowing me, not being
blind but not able to see.
but I'm so dry
but I try
dry
a
n
d
full of
this